Haunting Melody (20 page)

I expected a hook leftover from a vaudeville
comedy act somewhere in Tennessee to appear from a side street and
loop our trio off this stage, but we managed to get to the
residential part of Beale without attracting too much attention.
Most of Memphis, it seemed, had turned out to watch the bordello
burn to the ground.

We waited until we reached the Flynn house to
unattach ourselves from one another. I pounded on the door. No one
answered, so we entered the unlocked house, made our way to the
living room then sat for five minutes without saying a word.

Briley finally spoke first. “All right, Izzy.
Give us all the muckracking details. In order. Who, what, when, why
and how. Isn’t that the correct drill?”

Izzy raised an eyebrow. “Very good. Being
around a top-notch journalist such as myself has taught you the
basics.”

Briley snorted. “Skip the bull and get to the
details.”

“The ‘who’ is you. Well, you, Melody and the
Dupres. The ‘what’ is the Dupres' kidnapping. The ‘when’ is up in
the air, the ‘why’ also unclear, and the ‘how’ a complete
mystery.”

I turned to Briley. “He’s good, Briley. Your
childhood buddy. Gave us absolutely no information at all.” I
addressed Izzy directly. “Now, then, Rubens or Rubenovitch or
whatever you’re calling yourself in whatever paper you’re working
for today, how did you know Briley and I would be in Memphis?”

“Simple. I followed you from Melody’s rooming
house to the train station. Watched you get on, saw what train,
boarded it at the last moment, and bought a ticket from a nice
conductor who agreed to keep me well hidden near the baggage area
where no one cares to roam.”

I glanced at him. “I felt like someone was
watching me. I guess that was you?”

Izzy seemed puzzled. “Not me. I stayed put
for the trip except for meals and was very careful not to be seated
at the same time as either of you. Once we arrived, I followed you
here, waited outside, then followed Briley to the, uh, house of ill
repute. I did not expect Melody to show up dressed so delightfully
and I did not expect the best show since the Chicago blaze of 1871.
Which, mind you, I didn’t get to see since I hadn’t been born
yet.”

I blew my breath out in exasperation. “I did
not go dressed this way. I was neatly garbed in a truly ugly old –
oh forget it. I stink like smoke and I want out of this slut-city
costume now.” I rose. “Guys. I’m going upstairs and taking a long
shower. Don’t disturb me unless Denise or Nevin show up at the
door.”

“Wait. Just one thing.”

I turned from the entranceway of the living
room. “Yes, Izzy?”

“Why did you and Briley decide to come to
Memphis to look for the Dupres?”

Ah. There it was. The question I couldn’t
answer without giving Izzy Rubens the story of the century.
“Time-Traveling Talented Tart Muses on Mystery of the Missing
Misses!”

I smiled. “We had a tip from my landlady. How
she knew? No idea. You’ll have to ask her if we all get back to
Manhattan in one piece with the Dupres in tow. ‘scuse me, y’all.
Cleanliness awaits.”

I ran up the stairs before Izzy had a chance
to quiz me. Let Briley handle him. I needed to remove the stench of
not only the fire but of Madam Anna’s house and her very existence.
And I needed to rest because I knew the night wasn’t over. We had
research to do. Denise and Nevin had been taken to someplace for
some ceremony. Anna had said this ritual wasn’t dangerous. Or at
least, not if Denise “cooperated” - whatever that implied. I didn’t
like it. I didn’t like Anna and her lion skins nor Geb and his bald
head and general ickiness. And I didn’t like Anna's anonymous
brother, the person behind this strange event involving Egyptian
gods.

I cleaned up then hurried back downstairs to
join the men. I didn’t trust either of them to go tearing off
without me and I didn’t want a repeat of the comedy act the three
of us had performed skulking through the streets today trying not
to let members of our trio discover the whereabouts of one
another.

The living room was empty.

I jumped up and down and swore in language
neither my father, Great-great Aunt Teresa or Flo Ziegfeld would
approve of. I was about to throw a lamp out of frustration that my
comrades had dumped me when Briley sauntered into the living room
wearing a clean shirt and trousers.

“Mel. Was that your lovely voice I heard all
the way in my room screaming curses aimed at Isaac and myself?”

I smiled. “Could be. Unless the charming
Colleen O’Shea, a sweet Irish maid almost employed as something
else this evening, snuck in here while you were upstairs.”

“You thought we’d left you. Confess. You
thought we’d run out to play hero.”

“Somthing like that. Yeah.”

Briley perched on the edge of the sofa. “I
have to admit, I might have deserted you and gone out alone if I
had any clue where in Memphis that dreadful woman and her lackey
took Denise. If you’re wondering where the boy reporter is, he
mumbled something about the local newspaper and getting a story
about the fire written and ready for the morning edition.”

“Ah. That would be the Courier-Appeal. It’s
been around longer than Memphis has even been a city.” I grinned.
“At least it’s not Broadway Brevities.”

Briley stared at me. I stared back. “You
don’t think?” we said simultaneously. Briley shook his head. “He
wouldn’t. Izzy isn’t dumb. Let’s face it - a story about a Follies
girl trapped in – oh, let’s just say it – a whorehouse – in the
middle of Memphis, Tennessee, then burning it to the ground, would
not meet with Mr. Ziegfeld’s approval. We’d both be out of jobs.
Izzy wouldn’t do that to us.”

I nodded. “Well, maybe Izzy going to the
Courier-Appeal is a good sign. Maybe he’s trying to land a gig with
a real paper instead of a tabloid rag.”

Briley dismissed his friend with a hand wave
in the air. “Other than the certainty that you and I would end up
unemployed if Izzy chooses to release the news, I don’t much
care.”

“I’d’ve thought you’d be happy that Izzy is
turning away from trash and scandal and going for real news.”

“I am. Really. But right now all I care about
are Denise and Nevin. So. You’re clean and sparkling and beautiful
and I hope the soap washed the cobwebs from your brain. We need to
pool our information and see what we’ve learned.”

“Agreed. But, Briley, we have to do it fast.
According to Madam Anna and her cohort, Geb there’s a cult
performance coming soon to Memphis. Starring Denise and Nevin.”

I plopped down on the sofa and Briley took a
seat in the comfortable armchair across the room. That kiss we’d
shared at that awful bordello still burned in my memory and senses
hotter than any fire igniting the place but obviously we needed to
concentrate on the problem at hand if we were to achieve the goal
of finding Denise and Nevin.

“Let me try and remember exactly what that
sadistic slut said. I was so busy playing arsonist this evening I
haven’t had a chance to replay Anna’s little talk. She did start
yakking away about Egyptian gods and ceremonies and she seemed a
bit too interested in the fact that I design costumes.”

Briley jumped out of his chair. “That’s it!
You design and you dance. Denise is a wardrobe mistress.” He
paused. “Francesca Cerroni was a seamstress. But the two girls who
went missing before Francesca were chorus girls for the Follies.
They didn’t work with costumes.”

I shook my head.

Briley inhaled sharply. “Wait. One of the
girls - Hannah something. I never met her but Denise said something
about her being an odd sort. She didn’t really want to be onstage.
Was more interested in the scenery.”

“Go on.”

“I’m trying to remember. Something about her
father being a carpenter and she’d actually learned the trade but
no one wanted to hire her for backstage work because she was a
girl.”

I snorted. “Chauvinist.”

Briley chuckled. “I didn’t say I agreed with
the views of my Union. I’m just relating what Denise told me.”

I smiled. “Fine. I’ll let you off the hook
for now. Look, Anna already knew I was dancing in the Follies
because her brother, our mystery man, told her. I swear Anna became
a lot more interested in me as more than just a prospective hooker
when she learned I designed clothes. It appears that all our
kidnappees were craftswomen of some kind.”

Briley asked, “So, what is it about Egypt and
cults and female artisans? I doubt that our villain kidnapped
Denise and the others merely to sew for him.”

A female voice spoke behind me. Teresa.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I couldn’t
help overhearing. My parents have quite an extensive library.
Perhaps you two would care to check the shelves for anything that
ties together Egypt, Memphis, gods, artisans and women? I’d hate to
imagine that anyone in my town is being held without their consent
by a perverted cultist freak.” Teresa winced, then waved at me.
“Mel, the library is across from the parlor. I’ll leave y’all to
your research. Good luck.”

She gave me a quick hug then marched up the
stairs, doubtless to escape the lunatic relative and her supposed
fiancé who’d invaded her home.

“She’s right, Briley. We need to check this
out now and see if anything about crafts and Egypt and rituals pops
up.”

I led Briley to the back of the house where
my great-great grandparents had indeed amassed a huge number of
books. I blessed double G-Grandaddy’s organizational skills. The
books were indexed and catalogued. I gave Briley five large books
on gods in general and kept six specifically related to
Egyptology.

Thirty minutes later we were frustrated.
I’d’ve killed for a high-speed Internet search. We were also
getting anxious. I assumed, like all good cult rituals, this one
involving Denise and Nevin would begin at midnight. Fortunately,
from what Anna had said, that would be tomorrow night. Perhaps the
head honcho hadn’t arrived in Memphis from his lair in Manhattan?
Then again, I’d felt someone watching me on the train and Izzy had
pleaded innocent. So Anna’s brother could even have come down on
the same train as Briley and I.

We had less than a day to solve this mystery.
Where was Fiona Belle when I needed another song or sheet music
with a rip-roaring clue to lead us to Denise and Nevin’s
whereabouts?

A book fell on my head, then to the floor. It
opened, revealing a page with nice illustrations. I picked it up,
scanned the print then checked for cranberry stains, but for once,
found nothing.

“Ptah.”

Briley stared at me. “That’s rude.”

I frowned at Briley. “Is not. I said ‘Ptah.’
As in P period T period A period H period. Ptah was one of the
major Egyptian gods who just happened to be from -guess where? Yes,
indeedy. Memphis. Not Tenneesee. The original.”

Briley ran to my side. He rather rudely
peered over my shoulder while I read aloud from the book but I
didn't mind at all.

“‘Creator god.’ Memphis. Wow. Briley, take a
look. Ptah is considered the god of artisans, craftspeople. And his
wife or consort was Sehkmet who wore lion skins and they had a son
named Nefertem. That’s damned close to Nevin, isn’t it?”

We stared at each other. Briley broke the
silence first. “Mel, I’ll bet this guy wants to be a god or already
believes he is one. Is going for a planned reincarnation, perhaps?
He’s looking for his wife and a child? Planning to become this Ptah
in a rebirth ritual?”

“Could be,” I nodded. “Honestly - I don’t
care. It’s more important to figure out where the players will be
in about twenty-three hours.”

Briley took the book from my hands and
quickly scanned the page. “It talks about Memphis. It talks about
pyramids. It talks about. . . . “

“Wait!” I exclaimed. “Pyramids. There’s going
to be a big one. But not for another fifty years or so. I’m not
sure when the Arena gets built but it’s somewhere closer to 1990
than 1919. Forget it. What else does it say?”

“It goes on and on about the Nile so that’s
not much help.”

“Well, actually it is. Mud Island is situated
on the Mississippi. A river sometimes referred to as the American
Nile by folks in Memphis. And that bitch Anna said something about
Denise floating down the Mississippi if she didn’t co-operate. Mud
Island is right on the river.”

Briley turned pale. “We have twenty-four
hours to try finding this place. Assuming this is where Anna and
company took them. Why Mud Island? Do you believe these clows are
using is it because it’s like the Nile?”

“Maybe. I mean, it’s the only place that
makes sense given what little tidbits of info that woman threw
out." I paused. "Wait. a sec. Dirty. When she said something about
things getting dirty I thought she meant like whorehouse raunchy
instead of literally ‘dirt’ as in part of the ground and
muddy.”

“Okay. Decision. We go with Mud Island as the
place.”

“I agree. Briley, what else does the book say
about Ptah and Sekhmet? Anything about ceremonies of rebirth that
have been enticing the lunatic fringe from New York?”

“A little. At least I believe if someone
wanted to find a way to make up a ritual and was willing to skew
what he read, he’d find what he needed here.”

“Go on.”

“Well Ptah is represented by the Apis bull
who gives life on earth. Oh hell, he’s a fertility bull. That does
not bode well for any female involved in this ceremony.”

“Crap. That could be what Anna meant when she
said Denise wouldn’t be harmed if she cooperated. I guess that
means . . . ”

“I know what it means.” Briley’s face was
grim.

I took the book from him then scanned the
entry. “There’s more that’s not quite so nasty. There are words
that can be read from the Book of the Dead to bring Ptah to life in
the body of whoever’s tryin’ to be reborn. Interesting. Ptah’s
daughter is named Anat. That’s close to the name Anna and that
makes sense. Anat runs around with her hair in a pretzel ‘do,’
likes being naked – great for a madam – is a wiz with a crossbow.
Here ya go. She’s represented by a lion.”